


Of Hydrophasers and Space Hobos

by Cinderstrato



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Pure Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinderstrato/pseuds/Cinderstrato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fog machines and water fights? Elaborate plots to kidnap Chekov? Spock doing barrel rolls? Just another day on the Enterprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hydrophasers and Space Hobos

**Author's Note:**

> I polished this up a bit, and yes, it's still the single stupidest thing I have ever written.

  
Although Spock was generally opposed to the idea that any puzzle, no matter how daunting, was unsolvable, he could privately admit to himself that if such a puzzle did exist in the universe, that puzzle was the thought process of human beings.  
  
"No, I do not 'follow you,' Doctor. What is the purpose of this exercise?" Spock surveyed the recreation room filled with chattering crewmen and could only wonder what had possessed his shipmates to participate in this egregious waste of resources.  
  
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, it's a _game_. Don't tell me that you hobgoblins don't play games. I suppose they're too illogical?"  
  
"On the contrary, Vulcans have several activities for the amusement and education of minds, but if you refer to 'games' in the sense of playacting or pretending, then no, I do not see a rational purpose in it."  
  
The good doctor, absorbed in slipping on a waterproof slicker and mumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath, did not reply.  
  
Captain Kirk, who was hovering nearby, supplied the answer with his usual careless ebullience. "Yeah, well, maybe games don't have an immediate reward, but they give us practice for real situations. I mean, there's no tangible reward when I kick your ass at chess, but it sure feels good.”  
  
Spock had learned long ago not to attempt to correct his captain about the exact numerical percentage of their relative losses and wins at the chessboard; the captain seemed to think that one victory on his part equaled ten victories on his opponent's side. "Chess develops strategic thinking."  
  
"And so do some forms of play practice. If doing pretend drills give us the chance to develop our strategies and responses, there's some logic in it."  
  
"That is true," Spock conceded. "However, I cannot conceive of any situation in which we might need to call upon these particular . . . skills."  
  
"You never know."  
  
"Especially considering your habit of landing us on the weirdest goddamn planets in the Alpha Quadrant," McCoy said. "Only you, Jim."  
  
The captain grinned as though he had been given a spectacular compliment, although Spock was fairly certain that the doctor had not meant the remark positively.  
  
After zipping up his own slick-suit, the captain cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the din, “Alright, people! Everybody ready?”  
  
There were howls of agreement, and Spock briefly considered the possibility of some sort of hallucinogenic gas having been accidentally filtered through the ventilation system.  
  
“Awesome! Okay, Scotty, you and M’Ress pass out the goods, and then we’ll start. You all know the rules, right?”  
  
“There are no rules!” one ensign shrieked.  
  
“Exactly. Scotty?”  
  
“Ready to go, laddie.” Mr. Scott saluted once before he and Lieutenant M’Ress began to filter through the crowd with two large crates. The alpha shift crew crowded around to collect their equipment, and Spock flinched against the palpable wave of anticipation and giddy excitement that circulated through the room.  
  
The officers were the last to receive their machinery, and Spock frowned down at the object in his hand as the crew began to scatter down the halls in groups of two or three.  
  
The hydrophaser would have looked remarkably like a Starfleet-issue phaser if not for the garish stripes and lightning bolts printed on its handle. Spock curled his finger around the trigger mechanism and tugged -- instantly a jet of water issued from the weapon, splattering against the opposite wall, which had been covered with a skin of tarp to prevent damage to the electronic systems. Fascinating. It seemed unbelievable that someone would apply such technology to create a toy known more colloquially as a ‘squirt-gun.'  
  
“Well, we’d better find a good place to hide. I know about twenty people who are clamoring to hang my head up on the Rec Room wall,” the captain said, adjusting his own hydrophaser to the highest pressure setting. “Shall we team up, gentlemen? Safety in numbers and all that jazz.”  
  
“Fine, but don’t expect me to take a hit for you or the space elf,” McCoy grumbled. Kirk was already bounding down the hall, closely shadowed by the doctor, and Spock, after indulging in an inward sigh of exasperation, trailed sedately after them.

* * *

  
They’d found a pretty sweet corridor to hide in, but Jim knew that his enemies were lurking around somewhere and waiting for their opportunity to strike.  
  
Scotty had really rigged up Deck B -- the overhead lights were flashing like a Rigelian discothèque, and the simulated fog was an unexpected but classy touch. He could hear screams and the whoosh of airborne water from around the corner, and he allowed himself a small moment of smugness for arranging the ship-wide water fight. His people had dealt with some extremely tense situations in the past few months, and they needed to run off some energy before the whole ship sank into a funk. What better way to conquer the space-jitters than tearing through the Enterprise like maniacs, blasting the hell out of their coworkers?  
  
So far he’d managed to avoid Cupcake, who had gotten a very predatory gleam in his eye when he’d picked up his hydrophaser. Uhura was also lurking out there somewhere; as much as they'd learned how not to piss each other off over the last few years, he knew that, given half a chance, she would totally take advantage of the opportunity to give him a direct crotch-shot of highly pressurized water. Hell, he'd do it too if he were her.  _And_ there was always a danger of getting snipered by Sulu, who still hadn’t quite forgiven him for accidentally setting a very small percentage of his private botanical garden on fire. Jim almost expected his helmsman to drop from the ceiling, guns blazing (or squirting, as it were), and bust out some of his fencing moves. The man was sneaky like that.  
  
Maybe he could find Chekov and hold the kid hostage. Sulu and everyone's favorite Russian supergenius were daisy-chain-braiding, toenail-painting BFFs, and there was no way Sulu would try to take Jim out if Chekov was in the crossfire. Even better, if he could seduce Chekov over to his side, then Sulu might join up too and guarantee their chances of making it out of this relatively unscathed.  
  
“Jim, this is _stupid_ ,” Bones growled from behind him. “Can we move or something, ‘cause these pants are damn uncomfortable when they’re wet. If they ride up any further, they’re going to commit an act of osmosis with my ass.”  
  
“That is anatomically impossible, Doctor,” Spock said dryly, voice slightly muffled from having the side of his face pressed against the bulkhead.  
  
“Shut it, both of you. You’ll give our position away.” Jim peered back around the corner, searching the misty corridor for any sign of danger or balding security officers who held grudges for an uncommonly long time. “I’m trying to figure out how to kidnap Chekov.”  
  
“Kidn --? You know what, never mind. I don’t care what’s going on in that fool brain of yours. Just get us out of this corner, because I'm becoming too friendly with the space elf here.”  
  
“I am in complete concurrence,” came Spock’s rejoinder. “I find this close proximity to Dr. McCoy extremely displeasing.”  
  
“Fine, fine, we’ll move out if it’ll stop your whining. Wait for my signal, boys.” Slipping his hydrophaser in his shirt for safe keeping, Jim crouched down and tucked his legs underneath him, executing a neat barrel roll from one end of the hall to the other. He straightened up, flushed with victory, to see Bones and Spock staring at him.  
  
“Kid, what the _hell_ are you doing?”  
  
“Shh -- I can hear footsteps! Come on, hurry.”  
  
Bones stepped forward, only to stop a second later when Jim hissed, “No, not like that! Roll.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Roll, Bones. You can’t let them see you.”  
  
“Jim, there’s no way --”  
  
“ _Do a fucking roll, Bones_.”  
  
Gritting his teeth, the doctor dropped down and launched himself  across the deck on his stomach.  
  
“That wasn’t a barrel roll,” Jim accused. Since Bones looked about two words away from apeshit, Jim wisely decided to turn his attention to his other comrade. “C’mon, Spock! Roll over here before they catch up to us.”  
  
Spock didn’t move, his hands still locked stiffly behind his back. “Captain, it seems somewhat unproductive to expend unnecessary energy on elaborate physical maneuvers when ---”  
  
“Yeah, listen to the captain, Spock,” Bones piped up, suddenly looking much less sour. “Do a roll.”  
  
“Captain --”  
  
“That’s an order, mister.”  
  
His expression fixed in a mask of disinterest, Spock jerkily crouched down and executed the universe’s most awkward flip, landing heavily on his posterior right next to Jim.  
  
Bones cracked up.  
  
The sound of footsteps grew louder just as a spray of water erupted right over Spock’s head.  
  
“Abort, abort!” Jim hollered, leaping up and taking off down the hallway with Bones and Spock at his heels. Ducking into an alcove, the three men listened intently as the pounding boots hurried right past them and down to the turbolift.  
  
Jim breathed a sigh of relief that was cut short as he turned around to find Bones’s hydrophaser aimed at his face.  
  
“Traitor!”  
  
With a cackle, his friend pulled the trigger.       
  
Jim cringed, flinging his arms defensively over his face, but the expected shock of water never came. There was a flurry of motion and color, a loud gasp, and a wet, squishy _thump_ before the hall fell eerily silent. Cautiously, Jim cracked open one eyelid and took in the scene.  
  
Bones still stood in the doorway, his hydrophaser pointed at Jim and his jaw sagging in disbelief. Jim followed his friend's gaze down to his own feet, where Spock was sprawled across the tile. He was lying on his back, blue wetsuit stained black over his chest. For one foggy, horrified moment Jim wondered if he was the first starship captain to lose a man in a water fight.  
  
Considering his luck, it didn't seem that farfetched.  
  
"Spock?"  
  
His first officer opened his eyes and then closed them again just as quickly. Relieved, Jim's reasoning abilities returned, and with them came two relevant facts: one, that Vulcans had green blood; and two, that Spock's face and hair -- and consequently, his clothes -- were drenched with water.  
  
For a moment no one said anything, but Bones was the first to recover his voice. "Seriously? You seriously just jumped in front of Jim to . . . what? Save him from wet shorts and a friction rash?"  
  
"It was a reflex," Spock said stiffly. "I perceived a threat to the captain and reacted according to my training as First Officer."  
  
"Threat, my ass!”  
  
The tips of Spock's ears were steadily taking on a green tint. "Surely you are familiar with reflexive impulses, Doctor McCoy. I could not control an inbred response."  
  
"Funny, I thought you Vulcans could control anything . . . ."  
  
"Bones, enough," Jim cut in, stifling a laugh with what he believed was a truly impressive display of self-control and discretion. “C'mon, let’s go pick up the whiz kid and plan the next prong of the attack -- without any further instances of mutiny, got it, McCoy?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, got it.”  
  
“Great.” Jim hauled Spock to his feet, careful not to touch any bare skin. “You okay?”  
  
“I am relatively uninjured, Captain.”  
  
Jim smiled at him warmly, and Spock did that thing where he didn't smile but still sort of did with his eyes, which sounded kind of creepy now that he thought about it, but it didn't matter because they'd had a _moment_.  “Glad to hear it, Mr. Spock -- and you know what? Enough with all this ‘captain’ nonsense. This is a covert operation, so we need some good code names.”  
  
“Good _God_ ,” Bones moaned.     
  
After a second’s thought, Jim made his choice. “I want to be ‘Magenta Tornado.’”  
  
“For Christ's sake, why?”  
  
“Because it sounds cool. Now what should Spock’s codename be?”  
  
Bones's scowl split into a wide grin, and Spock visibly tensed. “I’ve got one,” he said slowly. “Fruit Bat.”  
  
Spock’s glare could have drilled through titanium. “Captain, if I may select another, more appropriate ---”  
  
“Fruit Bat it is!” Jim clapped his hands together gleefully. “And it’s ‘Magenta Tornado,’ not ‘Captain.’ What about you, Bones? Your name has to have the word ‘hypospray’ in it somewhere. ‘Hypospray ---’ What begins with an ‘h’ that fits Bones?”  
  
“Since the doctor was so kind as to select my moniker, might I offer a suggestion?” Spock cut in, before Bones could reply. “If I may be allowed to use outdated Terran terminology, I find that ‘The Hypospray Hobo’ has a lyrical quality to it, and it gives appropriate homage to the doctor’s slovenly physical appearance.”  
  
“Why _you_ \--!”  
  
“Alright, we’re all set,” Jim interrupted, wedging his body between his officers. “Let’s head out. Hobo, you’ll take the flank while Fruit Bat and I scout out a path ahead.”  
  
“Captain, might I --”  
  
“Captain who?”  
  
Spock sighed the sigh of the truly and deeply put-upon. “Magenta Tornado, might I advise that we approach the mess hall, where Lieutenant Chekov is statistically most likely to be found?”  
  
“Good thinking.” Grinning back at his team, Jim led the charge, laughing to himself every time Bones shouted out a warning against stray fire or Spock crouched down behind a table to spray the fuck out of one of his own science officers.  
  
It was official: Jim Kirk had the most awesome crew in the galaxy.  
      
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
